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Billionaires in Paris Cynthia Dane 2022/8/3 13:56:13

It took a long, long time and a shitton of patience on my part to help her reach the point where she could confidently ask for what she wants with me. She’s made it clear that she would never be comfortable doing it with another man. While she’s told me that she’s slept with other Doms before me, there’s no way it was kinky. No way.

I’m aghast because Damon Monroe is 24/7 kink with his sex life. This is a guy who will show up at the opera with his latest pet wearing nothing but a negligee and sporting a crystal collar around her throat – and a leash attached to his hand. So not only have I believed that Kathryn would greatly dislike this guy for many reasons, but the thought of them… having sex…

I’m not just jealous. I’m really, really confused.

“Excuse me for thinking I know you so well that a fuckfest between you and that bastard is beyond my comprehension.”

Kathryn dabs her mouth with my napkin but does not look at me. “I was having an exceptionally pissy night full of blustering hormones and he offered to buy me a drink. I went from thinking that I wanted to make a guy call me Mistress to full-blown get my cunt pounded until I couldn’t walk for a week. Guess who offered that to me?”

“Thank you so much for those images.” I need a lobotomy. Instead of me screwing my girlfriend on this table, I’m seeing Monroe shove aside his submissive assistants and tossing a moaning Kathryn Alison this way and that as he splits her in two. Which is my job.

No, no, no, I am not seeing that ball-busting Domme grin on her face. “He was fantastic, by the way.” She nips more food, eyes never breaking contact from mine. “Thought I had died and been blasted through time to the Garden of Eden. Didn’t stay the night though, don’t worry.”

Don’t. Worry. She. Says.

“Oh my God, you’re so pissed.”

“I’m not pissed,” I say through gritted teeth. “Surprised, that’s all, sweetie.”

Why the fuck is she laughing?

“You’re ridiculous. Do you need me to say that we have way more fulfilling sex?”

‘No.” What I need her to say is that I have the biggest dick in the universe and nobody has fucked her like I have. That I am the best lover she has taken to bed, and even if I died today, there would never be another man who could satisfy her like I can. That’s what I need. Not exactly something I can ask for, now is it? “What was he talking about… seeing us at The Dark Hour…”

“Oh, Lord.” Kathryn shoves aside the plate and buries her face in her hand. “He owns half of it! Of course he wants to see us there. That means money in his pocket.”

“We’re never going there again.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ian, you’re such a guy sometimes.”

“Forget about him.” She leans against me, her hand snaking its French-tipped way toward my insulted friend. I take out my phone and pretend to be far more interested in it than her. Two can play this game. “I came to Paris with you. I want to spend these next few days doing absolutely nothing but hanging out in this beautiful city and making love to you. I hadn’t even thought of that guy in months.”

“I can’t tell if you’re this jealous or being a dick.”

“You underestimate my ability to be both.”

“Typical. You find out that some other alpha male got to me before you and now act like a petulant teenager. Now I know what I missed out on in school.”

Have I mentioned yet that we went to Winchester together? That we had crushes on one another that culminated in a botched attempt at sex, ending with me all over her before I could even see her pussy? It was years before we tried again, and by then we had drastically changed anyway. Imagine that. People are different between 17 and 29.

Kathryn has drastically changed in the past year alone. She’s turning thirty next year, and by then she might be yet another person I don’t know. Me? I’m ignoring the fact I have turned thirty already.

“You didn’t think of him, but you remembered him the moment you saw him.”

Still smirking as if she’s got some big secret to share, Kathryn leans in and grazes her teeth against my earlobe. So much for being insulted – now my cock is acting like we’re getting some in the French restaurant. I pull a napkin over my lap even though we’re the only ones in here. “To be fair,” she hisses in my ear, “I instantly compared him to you. You know who I would rather be with?”

“His name better start with I.”

Her fingers pry away the napkin and push against my straining member. I’m not flustered. Never. “Of course it does. Now are we going to enjoy the rest of our day, or do I have to give you a blowjob beneath the table first?”